


you can't dance (that's what i like about you)

by kaermorons



Series: Witcher PTA AU [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Geralt is a single dad, Jaskier Shreds Major Lute, M/M, PTAU, Renaissance Faires, alternate universe - PTA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt invites Jaskier to a family outing with himself and Ciri. Jaskier wants to impress them, and ends up with a lasting impression on his heart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher PTA AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647940
Comments: 16
Kudos: 184





	you can't dance (that's what i like about you)

Geralt: [8:44 am] IMG_0147.jpg   
Geralt: [8:44 am] ?   
Jaskier: [8:45 am] Who is THAT beauty????   
Geralt: [9:03 am] It’s a lute   
Jaskier: [9:03 am] I can see that it’s a lute, is that yours? Why do you have a lute?   
Jaskier: [9:03 am] Please tell me you’re not selling that beauty.   
Jaskier: [9:03 am] Do you secretly play the lute, Geralt du Rivia???????   
Geralt: [11:15 am] It’s mine. Won it   
Jaskier: [11:15 am] !!!!!!!!!!!!   
Jaskier: [11:15 am] We need to talk about your abysmal texting skills   
Jaskier: [11:16 am] You can’t expect me not to beg you to let me play that work of art.   
Geralt: [11:20 am] IMG_0149.jpg   
Geralt: [11:21 am] Come over   
Geralt: [11:29 am] Please   
Jaskier: [12:40 pm] I was teaching sorry when can I come see you?   
Jaskier: [12:40 pm] And the beautiful lute of course   
Jaskier: [12:40 pm] Mostly you.   
Jaskier: [12:59 pm] Miss your face.   
Geralt: [3:15 pm] Are you busy after work?   
Jaskier: [3:15 pm] I’m free for you <3

* * *

“Ew, I cannot believe you sent him an emoticon. You’re thirty-seven years old, use an emoji.” Yennefer drawled, stealing another bake sale reject from Jaskier’s desk.

“Quit gagging. I’m gonna go play a lute!” Jaskier was buzzing with excitement. He hadn’t played a lute since college, and his mind was spinning with every song he could play for Geralt and Ciri.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d bet that was a euphemism. Actually, knowing you, it probably is.” Yennefer nodded, leafing through excess music theory worksheets. “Get going, Jaskier. I’ll cover you.” Yen smiled and waved him off. Jaskier kissed her cheek with a loud  _ mwah  _ and sprinted to the parking lot.

The drive to Geralt’s from the school was familiar and surreal in that he didn’t have a broad palm over his thigh, teasing him the whole way. Remembering that night, Jaskier blushed freely in the safety of his car, free to feel as foolish as he wished. Geralt plagued his thoughts constantly, and every single breath Jaskier took these days was exhaled in a day-dreamy sigh. Poor Yennefer.

Jaskier knocked politely on the door and waited for Geralt to answer. To his surprise, Ciri answered, dressed in a light pink gi, cinched with a green belt around her waist. Her pigtails and sparkly flip flops really made the whole look. Her face lit up in recognition. “Mr. Jaskier!” She exclaimed in delight. She turned to the house. “Papa, Mr. Jaskier is here!” Jaskier’s heart melted at how cute she was.

Geralt finally stepped into view. “Hey,  _ mon épinard _ , what’d I say about using the video doorbell?” Geralt said affectionately. His hair was casually pulled back. He’d recently re-trimmed the sides of his head and shaved; he looked damn sharp. The edge was cut with comfy-looking jeans and a flannel Jaskier guessed was softer by virtue of being a part of Geralt’s wardrobe.

“Sorry, Papa. I’ll remember.” Ciri sounded so solemn for an eight-year-old. Jaskier watched the exchange amusedly, enchanted by the du Rivias. Ciri bounded off to the living room and buried her face in a book. Geralt looked back at Jaskier, still standing in the door. 

“Come in!” Geralt said, opening the door wider and allowing Jaskier access. Ciri orbited them like a personal moon.

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning.” Jaskier murmured when he caught sight of the lute.

“Get a room, you two.” Geralt grumbled, a little flustered that Jaskier was making what were essentially bedroom eyes at the lute propped up by the couch.

Geralt had indeed won the lute in a rather exciting game of cards at a ren faire he’d gone to with Ciri while they were still living in Canada. Perhaps “exciting” wasn’t the best word to describe it. Ciri maintained that, despite the beautiful prize, watching her father play cards was absolute torture of the most boring degree.

The instrument was made of a stained and lacquered spruce, and made by an artisan. Intricate filigree detail curled from the bridge along the soundboard, between the soundholes, and up onto the neck, where the design inverted. The dark lacquer on the neck was interspersed with a beautiful vine design, winding around and up the frets like ivy on an old brick house. A cluster of gilded ivy leaves ended the design on the pegbox. Over the principal soundhole, the grille resembled a fine bouquet of flowers, peonies and roses and dandelions and lilacs, each more beautiful than the last. The wood was so thin in some areas that Jaskier felt he had to hold his breath. The whole effect was so that the lute seemed wrapped in beautiful, woven flora. Geralt had even taken a cloth to it so it shined, more so than in the picture he’d sent that morning.

Almost more interesting than the front was the back, the ribs making up the rounded body gleaming a warm tone, rosewood. The same leafy design was more subtle there. Whoever made the lute put in a lot of time, energy, and love into making it just so.

“I hope you didn’t swindle the artist that made this.” Jaskier murmured, turning the lute over in his hands a few times, getting the feel for it. The strings felt a little loose, but he’d get there soon. Geralt grumbled something to the negative, and Jaskier held the lute in his lap, finally.

He looked up at Geralt, grin splitting his face so wide it almost hurt. “This is incredible. Thank you so much, Geralt.” he whispered, almost breathless. Geralt said nothing, too struck by the beauty of the man grinning on his couch, holding an instrument which had, until this morning, been gathering dust in a storage room. Jaskier tentatively plucked at the strings and they both made similar faces at the discordant, flat notes played. “Well. Nice to meet you, too.” Jaskier muttered, and began tuning the strings from low to high, never once going back to check his work.

“You have perfect pitch.” Geralt observed.

“Kind of have to. Music professor.” Jaskier smirked, finally getting to the bottom string and tuning it in kind. He played one simple chord, and the resonance through Geralt’s house stole their breaths right from them. “Wow.”

At that moment, Ciri came around the corner, still in her gi and sandals. “Papa!” she whined. “Why did you invite him over to play when I have to go so soon?” She pouted rather forcefully at Geralt, and Jaskier watched with an amused smile.

“Jaskier also has a schedule, I don’t think he’d appreciate it if we stole him from his houseplant duties too many times in a row.” Geralt smirked over at Jaskier, who scoffed, clearly offended on his plant’s behalf.

“I am certainly not trying to get away from this lute as fast as I can, Geralt.” he defended dramatically, making Ciri giggle at the door. “I’d love to play for you.” Jaskier insisted to Ciri.

“She has training until six.” Geralt said, meeting Jaskier’s eyes again. “Think you wanna stick around for dinner tonight?” Jaskier could easily read the hopeful look in his eyes, vulnerable and reserved, preparing for the worst.

“I think I do. Want. I do want to. Stay. Um. What?” Jaskier’s head had seemed to drain of all rational thoughts at the affectionate smile Geralt sent his way, golden eyes glowing.

“Papa, you broke him.” Ciri said, in a stage-whisper. Geralt looked up and out the window at the sound of a car beeping their horn.

“That’s Miss Mary,  _ mon poire.  _ Grab your bag. Jaskier will be here when you are finished.” Geralt said, rising from the couch. Geralt could still feel the heat from where he’d been so close just a moment before. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Don’t burn the house down.” Jaskier was so taken aback by the pet name tossed to him so casually that he honestly forgot how to breathe for a moment after the door closed.

Geralt’s house was quiet, without either of its inhabitants in it. The walls seemed to watch him, appraise him, judge him. This was, of course, ridiculous, but Jaskier was also ridiculous. He took a steadying breath again, eager to be alone with Geralt again, especially after their post-date  _ activities _ from the previous weekend. His face flushed red with heat at the memory of his lips wrapped so tight around—

Geralt swept back inside rather suddenly, making Jaskier jump approximately a mile out of his skin. He laughed, nervous for the first time. It was hitting him all at once that  _ he was in Geralt’s house, holding a lute that probably cost more than his life, and was invited to dinner, and to play for Geralt’s daughter. _

It was all a little overwhelming, truth be told.

Geralt could see exactly what was happening, and sat down on the couch with Jaskier, a respectful distance away, but still next to him. Jaskier remembered cuddling up to him after the dance on this very couch, warm and cozy together. The thought eased some of his nerves.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish to, Ciri will understand.” Geralt said, calm voice belying his own apprehension.

“No!” Jaskier blurted out, surprising even himself. “No,” he tried again, and continued, satisfied that he’d gotten at least one of his nerves under control. He rather felt like an army of wacky wavy inflatable tube men, flailing about for no other reason than to broadcast how overwhelmed he was. “I want to stay.” He took Geralt’s hand, boldly. Geralt’s hand was warm, strong, safe as it had always been.

Geralt let out a sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding, relief flooding his veins. “Good.” He said, bringing Jaskier’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, once, before putting Jaskier’s hand back on the lute’s body. “Play. I want to hear you play.”

Jaskier, satisfied with this turn of events, let out a shaky breath of his own, smiling up at Geralt with all the smooth moves of a sprinkler system. That is to say, none at all.

“Right. Well, I’m a little rusty, so. Keep that in mind.” Jaskier turned his attention to the frets, gently running his fingers through the chord shapes for a few seconds before looking up. “Any requests?”

“Just you, sweetheart.”

Jaskier babbled for a moment, sputtering out something about John Dowland and “you cannot just  _ distract me _ like that, Geralt,” before finally putting his fingers to the strings.

The first chord was held for a moment, each note strummed one by one. Jaskier let out a sigh, focusing more intently now that he was playing. Jaskier’s hands moved fast along the frets, stretching between complex chords without missing a note. Geralt knew his hands held strength and dexterity to them; his own had the former but not much of the latter. He’d felt utterly clumsy even holding the lute before, readying it for Jaskier. Jaskier, it seemed, was having no trouble recalling the muscle memory of the song. He must have played it many times in college.

The song switched between resonant chords and trilling notes by themselves, Jaskier’s fingers hammering on and off the board with skill. He was, at this moment, exceptionally grateful that he still dabbled in classical guitar, because many of the skills were interchangeable with the lute. He strummed a minor chord, shaking his head as he plucked out a small melody from the lute. Geralt was transfixed; he felt like a cobra at the will of a snakecharmer.

As the piece progressed, Jaskier was proud to be able to show off, just a little. Geralt had kind of stolen the show at their karaoke date, lifting Jaskier on his shoulder and hauling him about with ease. His fingers picked melodies from the lute like a magician plucked coins from behind ears. The song turned happier, more rhythmic, and he nearly forgot the plucking sequence for a moment before he took a deep breath and relaxed. Lutes were meant for improvising, anyway. A conversation between the higher and lower strings fell from his fingers, carrying with it a rapport, an argument, an agreement.

Geralt could not look away, could not move. Jaskier’s breath came in pitched gasps, like he was remembering he had to actually breathe while playing. As the piece concluded, Geralt gave some soft applause, eyes shining with pride. “You’re amazing, Jaskier.” He reached out to squeeze at Jaskier’s arm.

The man in question was blushing rather terribly from the praise. He wasn’t used to getting praise from someone he was so infatuated with. “That’s one of the more popular pieces they teach at Juilliard. We’re often encouraged to train beyond what’s already been written, but I like that piece.” he shrugged, humble.

“I liked it very much.” Geralt said, hand coming up to brush against the back of Jaskier’s neck. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the touch eagerly. The heat from Geralt’s palm spread like honey through Jaskier’s body. He’d be a puddle if Geralt wasn’t careful. “I think maybe your hands deserve a break.” He took the lute from Jaskier’s limp hold and set it safely aside, and without breaking eye contact, pulled Jaskier closer, practically in his lap.

“Yes. Hand break. Yes. Mmm…” Jaskier was pulled into a kiss that blurred the edges of his own consciousness, making his eyes cross as Geralt pulled him closer,  _ okay, we are  _ in  _ Geralt’s lap now…  _ Jaskier tried his best to manage breathing and reciprocating Geralt’s attempt to perhaps crawl  _ into _ his mouth. Geralt’s hands roamed everywhere on his body. “Couldn’t wait to see me?” Jaskier panted, huffing a laugh as Geralt peppered kisses down the column of his throat. “I see how it is. You tempt me here with your lute and I— _ ah, Geralt— _ and I’m trapped at your will?”

“You talk. So damn much.” Geralt grumbled, nipping at a spot under Jaskier’s collar, easily concealed. Jaskier yelped and trailed into a wanton moan of the man’s name.

“You like my mouth when it’s occupied, don’t you?” Jaskier teased, pushing a hand down Geralt’s chest, eliciting a growl from the man beneath him. He tugged him back down, silencing him with his own lips, until Jaskier panted out, “How long will we be alone?”

“Hour.” Geralt said, pushing his hands up under Jaskier’s shirt.

“I think that’s plenty of time.” He grinned.

* * *

After a shower and another few very nice minutes in Geralt’s arms, Jaskier tried his hand at the lute again, fiddling around with it, relearning the chords and remembering more and more songs he knew from college. Geralt started cooking in the kitchen, always listening but occasionally watching him as well.

Seeing Jaskier enjoying the comforts of his home was a novel feeling, but greatly appreciated. He looked just as good and solid there as Ciri or himself did. “You know, you can come over any time you’d like.” Geralt said over the sizzling from the pan.

Jaskier looked up. “I can?” he asked, gently surprised by the offer. Geralt nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because...I want you here?” Geralt tried, looking at him. The massive flirt Geralt kept hidden never failed to surprise Jaskier whenever it was allowed to speak. His heart thumped unevenly in his chest.

“Well. I should at least call first, else this will be the first place I’ll go when school’s out.”

“So you only want to see me on business days, I get it.” Geralt teased. “I’m not a 24/7 boyfriend to you, how sad.”

The slip-up didn’t go unheard, but any anxieties Geralt had were blown away by the megawatt smile Jaskier was pointing at him. Jaskier put the lute down on the couch, leaning on the small bar between them.

“Well, I don’t know if you could handle  _ me _ as a 24/7 boyfriend.” Jaskier leaned his chin on his hands. “You sure you don’t wanna sleep on it, decide if those two extra days are worth it?”

Geralt matched him, leaning over the counter to face him, just inches apart. “Well, I think we’ve slept on it quite a bit together, don’t you think?” he murmured, before stealing a quick kiss.

Jaskier was still full-on blushing when Ciri came barrelling through the door in all her childish chaos. “I’m baaack.” she announced to the house. Geralt just smiled fondly at her.

_ “Bon soir. _ Go shower and change, dinner is almost ready.” Ciri took off upstairs and Jaskier came around to wind his arms around Geralt’s middle and press his head between his shoulder blades.

“Hey.” Jaskier murmured. Geralt spun in his arms and returned the embrace fondly.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Geralt sighed into Jaskier’s hair. They stayed like that another few moments before Geralt kissed his forehead and pulled back. “Help me set the table?”

* * *

“And  _ then _ he said long form kenpo wasn’t for girls and he had to go do pushups and then hold mats for the rest of the practice. When his mom picked him up, she flipped her shit.” Ciri said into her juice cup.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Rihannon du Rivia.”

“That was my one! That was my one for the day.” Ciri pouted.

“We have a guest over. You don’t get any this weekend.” Geralt said. Jaskier was stifling his massive grin in his hand and looking between the two like it was a tennis match.

“I want to know what happened after.” Jaskier said, to cut the tension.

“Well,” Ciri started, “When she started yelling and demanding an explanation, Mr. Chow told her son to answer. When the story finally came out, she still wasn’t happy with the answer and disenrolled him right there.”

“I guess kenpo isn’t for entitled brats, in the end.” Jaskier muttered into his cup. “He was a  _ kenposter.” _ Geralt rolled his eyes and stabbed some salad to his fork. Ciri looked like she’d seen the face of God.

“Papa, do all men in their thirties talk like that?” she said, still awed. Geralt stuffed his face with salad to avoid answering. Jaskier could only laugh.

* * *

Ciri, of course, demanded a lute performance for herself after dinner. Jaskier indulged her for almost an hour, more songs coming from his memory than he’d initially remembered only sitting next to Geralt on the couch.

Maybe there was another thing that had occupied his mind. Maybe.

“There’s a ren faire on Sunday. It’s in Holly, we’ve been a few times, and—”

“Mr. Jaskier, you  _ must _ come with us, you  _ have _ to.” Ciri said, after she’d interrupted her father with her excited gasp. She gave an even louder sputter when Jaskier mentioned he’d never been to one before.

“I’m from England, they tend to look down on those. The buildings already seem to loom when not insulted.”

“Well you’re Canadian now—”

“American.”

“Papa, I like Mr. Jaskier, he can be Canadian too, so he  _ has _ to go, there’s turkey legs and music and sometimes Papa throws  _ axes  _ and—”

“Ciri, please let him speak.” Ciri quieted, but still showed every ounce of her intention to drag Jaskier to Holly that Sunday, either willingly or by his toes on the back of Geralt’s car.

“I think it would be fun.” Jaskier said.

“Well good. I’ve got something you can wear.”

Ciri shrieked in delight.

* * *

The fairgrounds were about an hour from Geralt’s house. Jaskier looked slightly swamped in Geralt’s spare jerkin and trousers, but that was to be expected by this point. He fondly remembered that first day in Geralt’s house, swimming in sweatpants while his own clothes went through the wash.

He grinned over at Geralt, dressed in all black from the shoulders down. His billowy shirt made his broad shoulders look even wider, and the sharp contrast of his tightly-cinched waist and leather-clad legs. He looked delicious and dangerous, and some part of Jaskier’s genetic memory was surely slobbering. Ciri had dutifully braided his hair back from his head and painted on some eyeblack in a strange pattern. Ciri was in a deep purple dress with laced-on seams, a piece she had proudly proclaimed to have sewn herself. She even had a little prop dagger on her hip.

Geralt, however, was touting two massive swords on his back, secured snugly so they didn’t move around and irritate him while he walked. It made him look just a few inches taller, but it may as well have been several feet. Jaskier was proudly holding onto Geralt’s lute, ready to protect it with his life if need be. They looked quite a group: a warrior, a rascal, and a bard.

The grounds smelled more like earth than anything else, and it eased Jaskier into the moment even more. Groups of performers were making music and revelry around the area, and little triangles of tents indicated where some people preferred to camp overnight. Ciri suddenly let out a very loud gasp which startled Geralt and Jaskier alike.  _ “Papa, regarde là! Regarde! Papa, il y a des pirates!!” _ Her tiny hand found Geralt’s, and tugged him in the direction she wanted.

_ “En anglais, petit pois.” _ Geralt chuckled, sending Jaskier a happy smile.

* * *

After Ciri had tired of the pirates, she pointed out that several people were looking expectantly at Jaskier and the lute on his shoulders. Jaskier leaned in. “Do you think I should play for them?” he asked, in a stage whisper.

“Wait til Papa gets back with the turkey legs.” She decided sagely. Jaskier was happy that Geralt seemed to enjoy his playing enough that his daughter would suspend a performance until his return. He nodded in acquiescence and fine-tuned the lute to ready himself for the performance, running through the catalogue in his head for what would be good crowd-pleasers.

Geralt returned, three massive turkey legs and three flagons of “diet ale” in his hands. Ciri explained that Jaskier was going to play, and he took the rest of the foil from his own food to save Jaskier’s for later. Jaskier flashed him a grateful smile before he started to pluck out a happy, upbeat melody on the lute.

Heads turned his way, and between the crowd, the music, and the good company, Jaskier felt truly in his element. He leaned back against Geralt’s shoulder as he sang, trying to draw attention away from the fact his Old English was absolutely as awful as he remembered. Geralt didn’t seem to mind, or care.

Jaskier played a few more songs as the crowd grew around their little picnic area. Geralt leaned in to remind him his lunch was getting cold, and the feeling of Geralt’s lips on his ears brought a blush to his face. Jaskier nodded. “One more.” he promised.

He played a few quick chords, and gave a sharp, “Hey!” with a familiar vocalization that made some of the older crowd laugh and smile. The ren faire purists walked away, their loss. Jaskier nodded his head with the quick beat.

_ What I like about you? You hold me tight _ _  
_ _ Tell me I’m the only one you wanna come over tonight, yeah! _ _  
_ _ Keep on whispering in my ear, _ _  
_ _ Tell me all the things that I wanna hear, cus it’s true! _ _  
_ _ That’s what I like about you _

_ What I like about you, you really really can’t dance _ _  
_ _ But I’ll help you go up, down, jump around, thinkin’ bout true romance, yeah _ _  
_ _ Keep on whispering in my ear _ __  
_ Tell me all the things that I wanna hear, cus it’s true! _ _  
_ __ That’s what I like about you!

Jaskier gave a wink to Geralt, and suddenly stood, bent halfway over the lute with a foot up on the bench they were sitting at. With the pick in his fingers, he shredded out the solo of the song with his hair in his eyes. Geralt could see he had his lip between his teeth, in utter concentration. There wasn’t a single face not grinning in delight around the three of them. Ciri looked like she could cry from sheer happiness, and Geralt wanted to die with this memory still fresh in his head.

When Jaskier finished the song he gave a bow before setting the lute down carefully in its case. Several people wanted to take pictures with Geralt, but he seemed used to the attention, with the swords, the hair, the barbarian face paint. He let himself be pulled away. Jaskier still kept an eye on him as he ate. Ciri was also watching Geralt closely. She’d seen him too nervous too many times in crowds that it was almost second-nature to drag him away from situations that warranted it.

“You helped him on the Fourth of July, right?” Ciri asked Jaskier softly.

Jaskier swallowed and looked at her. This wasn’t a conversation to eat through. He nodded. “I did.”

Ciri looked down, cheeks getting red. “I wasn’t there to help him, when the fireworks went off.”

“Hey, hey…” Jaskier said, taking her hand. “That’s not your fault. It’s not your job to be there for your dad…” She had tears in her eyes as she looked up at Jaskier, lip wobbling as she nodded in agreement. “I just want you to be a happy kid, alright? I can take over from here.” Ciri surged forward in a hug, and Jaskier caught her effortlessly. “You can talk to me whenever you get worried or sad or scared, okay?” He felt her little head nod. “Or about anything, really. You’re pretty great, Cirilla du Rivia.” Her hug tightened just a little more. Geralt came back over.

“Everything alright?” he asked, apprehensive of the situation.

“Jaskier is the best.” Ciri muttered.

“Oh look, I’m usurping you.” Jaskier teased with a smile. He gave Geralt a nod that said everything was alright.

“When you’re finished, there’s a falconer’s demonstration just over there.” Geralt said, lifting Ciri into his lap easily. She clung to his neck. For the first time in his life, Jaskier looked at a child he cared for and wished time would stop, that he could hold them all there at this moment, forever.

But then he blinked, and for every moment after, life became even more beautiful.


End file.
